


world's end waltz

by CkyKing



Series: no more tony stark [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Both of them really, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Multiverse, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/pseuds/CkyKing
Summary: Gentle fingers brought him back to reality, or what passed for it, as they untangled his hand from where it had come to clutch at the fabric of his sweater just above his rebuilt sternum, a tell he had thought to have mastered a long time ago, and replaced it with a calloused palm, still warm from the fire they had gotten going.Guilt is not enough to go on forever, not even for Tony Stark.[Or: a welcome respite at the end of the world]





	world's end waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Because if I cannot find more Tonycest fics, then I'll damn well write them myself! Really though, this AU is the perfect setting for it. More hints of the plot shining though that one~
> 
> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://ckyking.tumblr.com/post/169781683633/worlds-end-waltz)

“Is there even anyone left on this planet?” The _but us_ was a heavy weight added to the already tense atmosphere, invisible but very, very present; one they both cautiously avoided in the way only a lifetime of practice could afford. _Is this our fault as well?_ followed not far behind, but the answer was so obvious they did not bother to even acknowledge it.

Tony didn’t look up from the papers that littered the table he was working at, and the other man didn’t expect him to, they also knew the answer to _that_ after all, and there was no need to twist the knife and ask him to check for the hum of another mind beside theirs.

Calculations hastily scribbled on the back of receipts; numbers and graphs on old newspapers and around carefully written dates and places on faded photographs, his messy handwriting on anything he could scrounge up from their refuge as he mapped out the fluctuations in time and space only he was left to feel. The ache behind his sternum flared sharply, once, before dulling as he thought of clean lines and cluttered spaces, of star systems made of holograms and constantly running code, of snark and companionship and the thousands of things he didn’t think would hurt as much as they did when he was forced to leave them behind.

But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t afford to, not when all they were left with was an old hunting lodge on a forgotten – please, please let it be forgotten – planet with nothing more advanced that a broken down radio at their disposition. No JARVIS or FRIDAY, no painstakingly calibrated sensor arrays placed in as many places as deemed necessary – and yes, he would maintain until the end of his life that putting one in the Mariana Trench was needed, just look at Pacific Rim, J! – only the push and pull against his enhanced senses that he wrote down as soon as they deviated from what he had determined to be the baseline of this world, probabilities and hairline fractures in the universe shining blue and gold to his sight and the evershifting fabric of it a constant bass playing down his spine.

It was usually a comfort to be reminded that he was but a speck in the universe, that not everything relied on him to continue existing; but not now, not when it was urgent and dark and hungry, a red hunter stalking through the multiverse in search of its preys as they ran and ran and _ran_ —

Gentle fingers brought him back to reality, or what passed for it, as they untangled his hand from where it had come to clutch at the fabric of his sweater just above his rebuilt sternum, a tell he had thought to have mastered a long time ago, and replaced it with a calloused palm, still warm from the fire they had gotten going.

“Hey, we’re going to be fine,” Looking up into startingly blue eyes, Tony allowed himself to believe, to avert his eyes from the truth for just one second, before squeezing the hand still holding his and letting himself be pulled up, “Now come on, it’s time you had a break, my eyes are hurting just looking at your dark circles.”

“Pot, meet kettle. And remind me which one of us is enhanced again? Yeah, I thought so.”

“You know what they say, age before beauty and all that. Wouldn’t want to add to your wrinkles.”

“I have no idea who “they” are but I’m going to make the, very reasonable, mind you, assumption that they are wrong. I mean, you just have to look at me to see that.”

“Oh, I _am_ looking, believe me,” he answered with a playful leer, raking his eyes up and down Tony’s body, “A bit too small for my taste, but I’ll make-do.”

“Who the _fuck_ are you calling small, you goddamn giant!?” and after a considering pause, “Make-do!?” came the expected indignation.

Tony glared up – goddamn him – at Anthony Stark, dark brown eyes meeting icy blue, only the twitch of his lips betraying his amusement at their usual banter.

“Not my fault you got the short-end of the stick, you know.”

“ _Enough_ with the ‘short’ remarks, or _you_ ’ll soon grow short a few—”

Laughing lowly, Anthony reeled him to his side by their linked hands, ignoring the various expletives being muttered into his shoulder as he untangled their fingers to slip an arm around Tony’s back and draw him closer, his other coming up to squeeze the nape of his neck reassuringly. Neither of them mentioned the arms that, in return, sneaked under the hem of his shirt and wrapped around his waist, Tony gratefully pressing closer as he sank into the heat of his body, pushing away the constant chill of the Void Between Worlds which riddled this dying realm they found themselves in.

_We are Starks and we do not turn our heads,_ Tony thought muzzily as he pressed his face to his counterpart’s neck, idly rubbing their cheeks together as he nuzzled closer, fingers drawing seemingly nonsensical patterns on Anthony’s hips as he gradually allowed his senses to dull, shunting any dimension except for the four he had lived in nearly all of his life to the side, there but ignored in case an emergency arose. _But surely, I can look away for a bit, just a little break...because even if I’m not looking, he..._

Fingers still and thoughts quietened, he finally broke the comfortable silence that had fallen, unsuspected, around them, the only noise aside from their breaths the crackling of the flames and the howls of the storm their appearance had heralded.

“We can—” Tony cut himself off before he could finish his sentence, but a questioning hum against his temple pushed down all the objections that had risen in his mind at the thought of voicing his desire to _stop,_ “We can stay like this for a bit, right? It’s not so bad, is it?”

Instead of answering, Anthony tightened his grip on him and leaned his head against his, allowing his thoughts to rise from a murmur at the back of his mind to a gentle litany – _it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, you can rest_ – as he started humming, the slightly off-key melody interspersed with Anthony’s husky voice as he sang, low and sweet, under his breath, only for Tony’s ears.

“Try to remember when life was so tender…”

Something hot and angry rose in his throat when he heard those words, the old grief the recent events had unearthed splitting open once more. But he did nothing as gentle – why is he always so fucking gentle with me!? – hands unwrapped his arms from their previous position, and allowed himself to be guided, one hand clutching Anthony’s shoulder and the other still held in his alternate self’s bigger hand.

“It’s been a while since I last danced. I think I’ve gotten rusty.”

“Yeah?” Tony answered wetly, falling back into their usual banter, following Anthony’s lead.

“Seems like you’ll have to be my partner until I get better.” the taller man said, brushing a kiss against his temple as he did so, both a question and a request as he let Tony collect himself.

“I don’t usually dance, but I guess I can make an exception if it’s you, sweetheart.”

_yes, yes, i trust you, i need this_

Slowly, very slowly, he started to sway, following the rise and fall of the melody as Anthony started singing once again, guided by the hand at the small of his back and remembering his mother as she was, bigger than life and beautiful and so, _so_ kind. But maybe it was alright to do this, to take back the memories that had been stolen from him and blunt their edges, just enough so he could look back on them without cutting himself.

And so, even as tears started rolling his cheeks, even as he joined, voice thick and soft, Anthony did nothing but continue singing, the two of them chest to chest and cheek to cheek as the world ended around them once more.


End file.
